


i want the green grass and the tomato plants

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: When Tony arrives to Stardew Valley, he spends the first five minutes staring.(Or, a Stardew Valley AU. Tony rebuilds a farm and owns chickens. Steve paints.)





	i want the green grass and the tomato plants

_ SPRING _

  


When Tony arrives to Stardew Valley, he spends the first five minutes staring.

Everything’s overgrown. Grass needs to be mowed, bushes need to be clipped back, trees have to be trimmed, the chicken hut is rusting and has gaps in the fence - Tony had known the farm was “in need of some tender love and care,” as his mother’s old lawyer had put it, but this place is _ wild _. Tony spots no less than three animals lurking around the underbrush.

He really, really hopes they’re squirrels, but he guesses that luck isn’t on his side.

Eventually Tony finds the path, also hidden by bushes and grass, and heads up to the house. It’s not much better than the surroundings, but at least there are no holes in the walls or roof. Tony guesses that’s as good as he should expect.

He drops his suitcase next to the bed - no mould or stray springs sticking out of the mattress, yay - and runs a hand over his face. Was this a mistake? It feels like one. He’d imagined showing up to a farm that was actually, y’know, a _ farm _, with working parts that just needed to get fired up to be functioning again, and instead he gets to build this place from the ground up.

Even as he thinks it, there’s a spark of excitement. This isn’t one of his old projects, the ones he swore off months ago, but if he strains, he can map it out like one: he’ll work with his hands, he’s always liked that. Sure, it’ll include more dirt and animal crap than he’s used to, but he’ll adapt. He’ll watch Youtube tutorials. He’ll ask around in town. Surely there are people around willing to take pity on some formerly rich guy who’s got himself in way over his head.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony gets to work. He starts simple: he clears out the house, then gets to work clearing the excess brush. There’s a lawnmower in a shed out back, thank god. There’s also some miscellaneous tools that Tony makes a note to Google later. He recognizes a hoe and a trowel and not much else.

He eats his way through the energy bars he’s packed, and by the end of the day the place is marginally cleaner - manual work takes longer than he realized, there’s still a long way to go - and he’s out of food and his stomach’s rumbling. He goes inside to grab his wallet, then hesitates.

There’s a perfectly good fishing rod in the shed. Tony doesn’t know how to fish, but Rhodey, after giving his blessing on “this stupid farm idea” had done some research and told Tony that this place is great for fishing.

Tony looks up a Youtube video on fishing, grabs the right stuff - he’ll buy bait when he’s in town - and sets out with only vaguely romantic ideas involving catching and eating his very own fish.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Two hours later, he’s still hungry. He’s hunched in a tiny chair next to a river, he’s properly baited the line, and he hasn’t had any nibbles for the last hour and a half.

He sends a text off to Rhodey - _ great fishing here huh dipshit _ \- and is in the middle of a sigh when someone says, “New here, huh?”

Tony turns, opening his mouth to say something probably more snappy than deserved, but then gets distracted. If Tony put ‘hot farmer guy’ into a porn search engine, this man’s picture would show up. He’s big and muscled, but not in a bulky, intimidating way. Actually, not much about the guy is intimidating. He’s got a kind face and is standing like he knows exactly how big he is and doesn’t want to scare anyone off with his largeness. He’s carrying a blank canvas under one arm, along with a tin container of what Tony assumes are paints.

_ Nice eyes _, Tony thinks distantly, which is embarrassing. Obviously the quaint Stardew life has rubbed off on him faster than he expected.

“Uh,” Tony says when too long has passed and the guy is looking expectant. “That obvious?”

“Kinda,” Artist Farm guy says. “This is a notoriously bad spot to fish. You’ll have better luck five minutes up the river.”

“Thanks,” Tony says. He starts getting up and his stomach rumbles loud enough that he winces. “Jesus.”

AF guy laughs. “If it’s an emergency, there are quicker things than fish,” he says, and bends down near Tony’s feet. He rummages for a few seconds and comes up with a startlingly large number of mushrooms.

“They’re not gonna make me start seeing - I don’t know, Ronald Regan doing the chicken dance while the world melts around me, right,” Tony asks when the AF guy holds them out.

AF guy shakes his head. “Nope. These are safe. There’s a lot of stuff around here if you know where to look.”

“Which you do.”

“Yeah. Lived here all my life. You pick up a few things. I’m Steve, by the way.”

Tony hitches up a smile. “Tony,” he says, and waits for recognition, but there is none. Steve shakes his hand - firm grip, but not too tight - and hands Tony the mushrooms after he lets go.

“I heard someone was taking over the Carbonell farm,” Steve says. “Is that you?”

“It is.”

“Never seen anyone down there. It’ll be good to have someone take care of it again.”

Tony snorts. He turns the mushrooms over in his hand, rubs dirt off of one. 

“I don’t know how well I’m gonna take care of it,” he admits. “I’m, uh. Very green. Is that a term you use? Green?”

“Sure,” Steve says, in a tone that implies it really isn’t. “Well, if you have any trouble, everyone here is happy to help. I’m just another ten minutes down the road in the house by the impossibly big oak tree, if you have any questions. I haven’t run a farm in a while, but I still know my way around. What are you need done?”

“Uhhhh.” Tony tries to remember his list. “Well, I need to fix everything up first - the chicken coop, especially. I gotta built a silo and a greenhouse. I gotta learn how to - do fertilizer, and plant crops, and where to put them and why you put them there, and also where to get chickens, and how to, uh. Have chickens around. And - everything, basically.”

Steve nods. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. Again, when you run into problems, everyone here’s happy to help.”

That’s - a little bewildering, honestly, but Tony doesn’t want to insult the guy by laughing in his face, so he nods. “So you don’t farm?”

“No, not for a while. My family used to have one, but after my Ma passed, I let someone else take care of it. I mostly paint for a living.”

He shifts the canvas under his arm, almost self-consciously.

“Cool,” Tony says. “You must be good.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” Steve says. “It pays for food, anyway.”

Tony’s stomach grumbles again. He makes a face, scrubs at a mushroom and then pops it into his mouth.

“If I start tripping,” Tony says, “I’m blaming you.”

“You won’t,” Steve says easily. “Those kind of mushrooms are a while off. Gotta make a trek if you want those. Anyway, it was good talking to you. I hope you get settled in soon.”

“You and me both,” Tony says. He waves a hand at Steve’s canvas. “Have a good - painting. A good time painting.”

“Always do,” Steve says, and then sets off. 

Tony watches him for a second, then eats another mushroom. He picks up his fishing equipment and heads up the river, where he does end up catching three fish but at that point is so hungry he just has dinner at a cafe near the river. He puts the fresh fish in a bag next to his feet, expecting people to complain, but no one says anything.

_ Whole new world, _ Tony thinks, and starts formulating what he’s going to do next.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The work is slow, but Tony throws himself into it, which means it gets done. Doesn’t matter what the work is - as long as Tony dedicates himself to it, it always gets done. Even if the work is hauling fertilizer (which he gets from a shop in town, as well as an explanation of what the fertilizer is good for and exactly how to use it) to his new crops, which is an adventure in itself. Tony can’t help but be excited when he finishes planting, even if all that’s in front of him is a large patch of freshly patted-down dirt. 

There’s still a lot of maintenance to do, and Tony slowly crosses things off his (intimidatingly large) to-do list. Clear up the entire goddamn farm: check. Fix the chicken hut: check, apart from replacing the rusted chicken wire. Learn how to chop wood effectively: check. Get the equipment and materials to build a silo and a greenhouse: check. BUILD the greenhouse and silo - ongoing. 

It’s very slow going with just Tony, which is how he ends up getting a few people over to help him out. People are, as it turns out, very happy to help in this town. The fertilizer guy, Clint, comes over a few days a week to help him with the silo, and even brings along a few friends: Sam, the guy who runs the cafe near the river, and Bucky, his co-manager who might be married to him or might hate him or both, Tony can’t really tell. They’re good for manual labour, anyway, and also for conversation and bringing food to share when they’re working on the silo.

Clint also sits him down and give him the ins and outs of how to actually, y’know, grow crops without killing them, since Clint has a farm about ten minutes down the road, mostly growing fruit and flowers.

A fisherman - or woman, he supposes - Natasha, guides him through the process of killing a fish the most painless way, and how to store them properly, and where to get the best fish other than her store. She doesn’t seem that concerned with Tony getting his own fish rather than buying hers, which strikes Tony as bizarre, but the vibe he’s getting from these people is that they genuinely do want to help him out, not because of any big reason, but just because Stardew Valley is that kind of town.

He sees Steve around town, sometimes out and about, sometimes buying something at a store, sometimes with his canvas propped up on an easel and painting a landscape or someone’s kid. He always waves when he sees Tony and asks him how things are going. When Tony mentions that he’s thinking of getting chickens soon, Steve directs him to the chicken guy, Thor, who - upon Tony’s request - doesn’t give him any, but gives him a long, _ long _talk on how to take care of chickens, and what breeds are available, and what breeds work best for whatever you want to do with chickens, and then takes Tony out back and introduces him to his chickens - his main ones, anyway, the ones he keeps around. He does give away chickens, but only the chicks of these chickens, and sometimes keeps the chicks and raises those ones until they have good long chicken lives and then die. The chickens he keeps are all named and Thor seems to love each of them passionately. He takes their eggs and does eat his chickens, but only when they die of natural causes. He gives Tony three books about raising chickens before he leaves.

Tony sends Pepper and Rhodey frequent updates and is relieved to hear their twin confusion at the town’s generosity. At least it’s not just him who’s confused. 

It’s only after about a month that Tony realizes that some of the residents can be aware about how weird they are, especially to someone from the city, and _ especially _when that city is New York.

“Tourists are my main customers, anyway,” Natasha says when Tony finally asks her about why she helped him learn how to fish rather than directing him to her shop. “Also, sabotaging your fishing would probably be harder in the long run than helping you out. Besides, you say you’re sticking around. Might as well be friendly.”

Tony guesses he must still look disbelieving, because she nudges him.

“This is a good place,” she says, with a soft face that gives Tony the impression that Natasha has been to some very bad places in her life and views Stardew as a haven, a soft place she’s very happy to be after a lifetime of hard, jagged places. 

“We need to work to keep it that way,” she continues.

Tony looks out over the river. The lack of city noises has been a lot to get used to, but he thinks he might be getting the hang of it.

“Hey,” he asks Natasha. “Is there anything around Stardew that needs to be fixed?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ SUMMER _

  


Tony quickly turns into the guy to go to when something breaks down. Doesn’t matter what it is - anything vaguely mechanical, Tony can fix it. If it’s not mechanical, if it’s just some piece of equipment, Tony will do a quick search on how to fix it and then do it like he’s been doing it his whole life. The townsfolk are delighted and Tony is - well, Tony’s honestly happy to be contributing to the community after they’ve helped him out so much. He fixes Natasha’s broken door at her shop and the oven at Sam and Bucky’s cafe, and then the stove when that breaks down later that day. When he walks through the town, everyone says hi and stops and talks to him about his farm or about something Tony fixed and how nice it was of him to do it. They give him tips about the farm - because there’s never a limit to what Tony has to learn, apparently - and Tony takes it in and stores the knowledge for later, and it always ends up being some kind of useful, even the woman who tells him to go down to the beach and rummage around. He finds some very cool shells there, perfect for making his house look more like a home rather than a place he’s staying in for a holiday.

_ Am actually setting up a life here _ , he emails Rhodey and Pepper. _ It’s very weird. _ He sends them photos as he goes through his days: the progression of his crops, his finished greenhouse and silo, his farm which is looking pretty farm-like now. He tells them about his repeated invites to the bi-monthly dinner that a bunch of them have at Steve’s place, and how he hasn’t been able to go once on account of being so busy with the farm. He sends them photos of all the fruit he picks off of local trees, then shows them all the stuff the townspeople make out of them when he goes around handing them out: grape jam, blueberry pies, and a truly impressive amount of peach cobbler.

Around about this time, the scarecrow that Tony has been using - which had been leftover from when his mother’s family owned the farm - gives up the ghost for good, which is fine, because Tony has been meaning to replace it anyway. 

But then comes the ordeal of making a scarecrow. A quick search tells Tony that it’s pretty easy, but when he mentions it around town when he’s buying groceries, Steve offers to come around and help.

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Tony says. 

“No, I know,” Steve says. “Just - not a lot to do today. And it’s more interesting than getting coffee.”

Tony blinks. Steve just wants to hang out. That’s - nice.

Steve starts, “If you don’t-”

“No! That sounds - sure, come help me make a scarecrow,” Tony says. “How’s 1pm?”

“1 works,” Steve says, looking very relieved. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


At 1 on the dot, Steve shows up. Tony is already on his porch, with some planks of wood, nails, an old shirt and jeans, some hay, a hammer, a pillowcase and some twine.

“You’re prepared,” Steve says.

“Yup,” Tony says. “Got instructions from Wikihow. But since you’re the scarecrow master - do we need anything else?”

Steve surveys the supplies. “One thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Markers.”

“Markers?”

“For drawing a face,” Steve says. When Tony just looks at him: “Gotta make it convincing. Those birds are smart.”

“So if we didn’t draw a - what, a smiley face, on the old pillowcase we’re gonna stuff with straw, the birds will suss us out? _ Aha, that man has no face! He must be an imposter, designed to scare us away from our bounty _?”

“Yup.”

Tony snorts, but goes inside and grabs a marker. When he comes back out, Steve is already arranging the slim planks into a frame for the scarecrow.

“Is black marker okay,” Tony asks. “Do we need a particular kind of marker to outsmart the birds?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “Black is fine,” he says. “Hand me a nail, please.”

Tony does. As Steve hammers the frame into place, Tony stuffs straw into the pillowcase and the jeans, tying them all off with twine. Then he directs Steve into the right position in the middle of the field and watches Steve hammer the frame into the ground, then hands him the shirt, which Steve drapes over the frame, and then the straw, which Steve stuffs into the shirt, and then they split the twine and tie off a sleeve each.

They position the jeans in the right place, then the head.

“So a smiley face _ is _okay,” Tony says, and waits for Steve to laugh and nod before scrawling a smiley face onto the stuffed pillowcase. He adds some angry eyebrows for good measure.

“Even scarier to the birds,” Tony says. “He’s not even frowning - he’s angry and _ happy _. Much more dangerous.”

“No bird’s gonna touch your crops,” Steve agrees.

They step back to admire their work.

“I’d think it was a person,” Tony says. “If I was really drunk and far away. And it was dark.”

“Hopefully birds are dumber than you when you’re drunk,” Steve says.

Tony doesn’t know if he should be insulted by that, but he can’t think of a snappy comeback, so he lets it go.

“Want some coffee,” Tony asks. 

Again, Steve looks relieved. “Sure.”

They head inside. Tony glances out the window at the scarecrow. Yeah, there’s a chance that might scare the shit out of him one night. 

Tony boils the jug and turns on the expresso machine. He had contemplated just using instant coffee when he moved here, but he’s not an animal

Steve leans on the counter and asks, “How are you settling in?”

“Good,” Tony says. “Better than I thought I would, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Uh. Didn’t think I’d adjust well to farm life, but - it’s growing on me. I came here so I wouldn’t have to go back to the city, but I never thought I’d actually do it. But - I don’t know. I might actually stick around.”

“That’s great,” Steve says. “We’re glad to have you in Stardew.”

“Does the name ever get old?”

“What?”

“_ Stardew Valley _,” Tony says. “Like - who named this place? Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but it’s - a bit much.”

Steve doesn’t look insulted, thankfully.

“I’ve lived here forever,” he says. “It sounds normal to me, but - yeah, I can get why it sounds like a bit much to someone who hasn’t heard of it before. When did you hear about Stardew?”

“After my mom died, I guess. In her will. She mentioned it a few times, but never the name of the farm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What? Oh, mom died-” Tony waves a hand. “Ages ago. Two decades, almost.”

Steve nods. In the background, the jug is almost finished boiling.

“My Ma died about five years back,” Steve says.

“Shit. Sorry.”

“‘S alright.” Steve smiles, but it’s a bad attempt. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Yeah,” Tony says quietly. He can understand that. 

The jug finishes boiling and Tony pours each of them a cup, dumps the expresso in, then lets Steve handle the milk. He has his plain, which Tony can respect. He’s also eyeing the expresso machine like he’s judging Tony a little, which is fair. Small town folk, after all. Tony can’t bring himself to think anything bad about Steve for it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When the weather starts getting unbearably hot, Tony decides to bite the bullet and get chickens.

Thor is delighted, which isn’t a surprise. He gives Tony six new bantam chicks from his beloved chicken Clucky, who he’s raised for seven years.

“You must tell me what you decide to name them,” Thor says.

Tony nods and tries not to feel weird about holding a box of living creatures, all of whom are peeping adorably. “I’ll let you know.”

“Do not feel pressured to name them immediately,” Thor says. “You might have to wait for their personalities to show before you can gift them with a name.”

Tony chews the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t grin. Man, he loves this guy. “I’ll give them the best names any chicken can hope for,” he says. “Don’t you worry, buddy.”

Thor claps him on the shoulder, gently, as to not disturb the chicks in the box, and then sends Tony on his way.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony is anxiously watching over the chickens that he’s just put down in their pen, watching them huddle and scratch around at stray shoots of grass, when he hears footsteps coming up the dirt drive.

“Hey,” Tony says. “How’s it going?”

“Going okay,” Steve says. “Actually, my lawnmower just gave out on me and I was wondering-”

He pauses. Cranes his neck around Tony to see the chicken pen. 

“I gave in,” Tony says.

Steve breaks out into a smile and comes to stand next to him, surveying the new arrivals. 

“Did Thor cry?”

“Only a little,” Tony says. “I’m a little worried that I’ll name them and he’ll resent me for naming them wrong.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah. Unless you don’t look after them properly, Thor won’t resent you for anything.”

“Phew. I was worried.”

Steve steps closer, then kneels down. A chick wanders closer.

“Hello,” Steve says. He takes a Fiddlehead Fern shoot and presses it through the chicken wire. “You hungry, fella?”

The chick chirps and bobs closer. It darts forwards, grabs the shoot and runs off back to its siblings.

Tony gets out his phone and takes a picture. _ Fucking _adorable.

Steve stands, brushing dirt off his knees. “How are your city friends?”

“Good,” Tony says. He sends the picture off with the caption_ if you have any opinions on names, share now _. “Busy.”

“You can relate.”

“I’m getting less busy,” Tony says. “It’s less - building from scratch, now. More maintaining.”

Steve hums. They watch the chickens clamouring around each other, sussing out their new surroundings, until Tony says, “Your lawnmower?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. It’s pretty temperamental. If you could have a look at it-”

“I’ll come over later today.”

“There’s no rush,” Steve says. They lapse back into silence, and Steve nods towards the chickens. “We all thought you’d put these guys off for a while longer. You seemed pretty, uh-”

“Freaked out at the idea of being responsible for animals?”

“Yeah.”

Tony shrugs. “Figured I’d bite the bullet. Thor was a big help.”

“Did he give you the books-”

“_ Oh _, yeah. Hell yeah. Very, uh, educational.”

Steve laughs. “Thor loves it when someone else gets chickens. He doesn’t like to send them off to faraway farms, but when someone in town gets them - he likes to know they’re being taken care of. So he makes sure people know what they’re doing, chicken-wise.”

“Mm.”

“You’ll do a good job, Tony. Look at what you’ve done with this place - it’s only been a few months.”

Tony glances around. Things are definitely cleared up now, and there are some new structures where before there had just been stray plants. It’s nowhere near done yet - Tony’s definitely going to keep expanding, plant more crops, build more greenhouses and silos - but it’s a start, and Tony’s strangely proud of it.

“You’re a hard worker,” Steve says.

“I am that,” Tony says. He can’t turn that one down. 

He takes another look around the farm, all these things he’s done with his hands.

“Hey,” he says. “You do commissions, right?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “Of course. Why, are you interested?”

“Yeah, I think I am.”

Steve gestures around. “You... want a painting of this?”

“You read my mind, Rogers.” 

He grins, then grins harder when Steve colours a little and ducks his head. Steve is so unflappable when it comes to most things, but the second Tony turns a hint of charm on him, he starts stammering. It’s as adorable as the chickens.

“I can do that,” Steve says. “Uh. Do you want it by a certain time, or-”

“Whenever works best for you.”

“Alright,” Steve says. “I’ll talk to you later about what you want out of it.” 

He gives their surroundings a considering look, and Tony tries to imagine an artist’s brain coming up with types of paint and brush strokes, constructing a painting in his head as he looks around, the same way Tony had looked around and figured out what he needed to build and fix.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony names one of the chickens Virginia, because Rhodey requested it and because they both know it’ll piss Pepper off. He names another of the hens Ferdinand, at Pepper’s request, another chicken Henrietta after Rhodey’s Aunt, another one Mary, another Kit. He names the last hen Steve Jr. She gets named because a possum comes up to the chicken wire one day and before Tony can tell it to fuck off, Steve Jr. runs up to the chicken wire and peeps madly at it as her sisters run away to the inside part of the coop.

“From the things everyone has told me about you growing up,” Tony says when Steve asks_ oh god why _ when they run into each other in town and get a coffee _ , _ “it seemed accurate.”

Steve stares at him. “Who - who’s telling you stories about me growing - _ Bucky _.”

“Yep.”

“Asshole.”

Tony shrugs. “He loves telling that story where you tried to punch that bully in the face but overswung and fell down three flights of stairs.”

“I broke my leg!”

“Yeah, and he admits _ that _wasn’t funny, but everything else about it was.”

Steve’s hand flexes around his coffee cup. “Remind me to tell you embarrassing things about Bucky later.”

“You got it,” Tony says. “Speak of the devil!”

Bucky shoots him a look as he comes out - apron donned but otherwise looking like he’s just walked in off the street without brushing his hair or showering or putting on clean clothes - to clear plates from the next table. 

“What,” he says.

“Just talking about how you’re an asshole,” Steve says.

Bucky picks up a sandwich a customer hadn’t finished, cuts around the bite mark and lets that bit fall to the plate, then starts eating the rest of the sandwich. When Steve and Tony make twin faces of disgust, he starts chewing with his mouth open.

Steve throws a fork at him. Bucky dodges it and laughs, still with his mouthful of sandwich.

Tony, as he usually does when these two communicate, watches the exchange in bewilderment.

“How’s the farm going,” Bucky asks as he picks up the fork with the hand that’s not holding the sandwich.

“Good,” Tony says. “Actually, I named my chickens-”

“He’ll tell you about it later,” Steve says. “You’re at work, Buck, go and work.”

Bucky flips him off, but heads back into the cafe with his plates, his sandwich and Steve’s fork.

“Should I not tell him about Steve Jr.,” Tony asks.

Steve sighs. “I - no, it’s fine. You can tell him. Just - make sure I’m around so I can step on his foot or something.”

“Done,” Tony says. He finishes his coffee. Thinks about getting Barnes back out here to get him another one.

“Hey,” Steve says. “The, uh, group dinner is happening tomorrow, by the way. I know you’re probably busy-”

“Actually,” Tony says. “I made time.”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“Yep.” Tony tips his drink to his mouth. It’s empty, but it’s something to do and he suddenly wants to hide his face. He wishes he still wore sunglasses as much as he used to.

“Well,” Steve says. “We’ll be glad to have you there.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony shows up to Steve’s house - the oak outside of it is indeed so big that Tony can’t mistake the house for anyone’s but Steve’s, my god that tree should be in Ripley’s Believe It Or Not - with a dish of shepard’s pie, which was the simplest thing he could make after a day of working on the farm and realizing that 1) he had to bring food to a dinner in two hours and 2) he had no idea how to cook. He’d googled an easy recipe that he could make with the ingredients he had available, and now he was bringing it over. 

He knocked on Steve’s front door and fought the urge to juggle the dish from hand to hand. Even through the dishtowel it was still hot enough to be uncomfortable. 

Steve opens the door. “Hi!”

“Hey!”

“Come in.” 

Tony does, making a beeline straight for the table that’s covered in food and also townsfolk - everyone’s here already, it seems. Natasha, Thor, Clint, Bucky and Sam all wave as Tony puts down the shepard’s pie on the only clear spot left on the table.

He shakes his hands at his sides after he lets go of the dish. The air is pretty damn warm, but still cooler than the dish.

“Looks good,” Natasha tells him.

“Thanks,” Tony says. “What’d you bring?”

Natasha nods towards a casserole. It looks about as good as Tony’s, which is to say, very obviously done by someone who doesn’t cook much.

“Nice,” Tony says, because who the hell is he to judge. “Uh, where do I-”

Everyone points over at an empty seat. Steve has just sat back down in the seat next to it. Tony spares a thought to wondering whether Steve put Tony next to him on purpose, but quickly shoves the thought down as he walks around the table and takes his seat.

“Great!” Clint claps hard. “Everyone’s here, now let’s eat. Pass me Thor’s weird vegetables.”

Plates get passed around and Tony takes whatever people give him, which means he ends up with a strange and huge assortment of foods. He hopes they don’t serve dessert after this, or he might have to go outside and puke and then come back in for more, like the ancient Romans.

“So you named the chickens,” Bucky asks from across the table. 

It takes Tony a second to realize it’s directed at him. “Yeah, uh-”

He glances over at Steve, who is digging into Tony’s shepard’s pie. He doesn’t look concerned, so Tony continues, “Virgina, Ferdinand, Henrietta, Mary, Kit and Steve Jr.”

Bucky snorts into his lemonade. “Steve Jr.? What’d-”

“Bucky ate a customer’s sandwich yesterday,” Steve says.

A series of groans run through the table. Tony watches as Sam drops his bite of casserole and turns to Bucky, who is already defending himself.

“They’d finished with it, it’s not like I snatched it out of-”

“You said you’d cut that out!”

“-their hands, and they didn’t see me anyway-”

“It’s _ gross _, man!”

“-and I cut away the bite marks, it’s not like I was being unhygenic!”

“THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT EATING A CUSTOMER’S LEFTOVER SANDWICH THAT IS HYGENIC,” Sam yells, and Tony looks around to see if he should be worried, but the only thing coming from the others is amusement. Sam and Bucky don’t seem to be violent-mad, just exasperated-mad, the kind that old married couples get. Tony still doesn’t know if they’re together or not, let alone married, but he’s determined not to ask. It’s been way too long for him to ask and for it to not be weird.

Tony looks over at Steve, who is watching and eating and looking pretty happy with himself. Tony feels himself grin, just in time for Steve to glance over and catch him at it.

Tony narrows his eyes at him and then at the argument that’s going on across from him. Steve shrugs. Eats another bite of shepard’s pie.

“It’s good,” Steve says quietly, pointing his fork at the pie on his plate.

“Thanks,” Tony says. “Your…”

“Sausages and mashed potato.”

“It’s great.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Really,” Tony says. He cuts off a slice of sausage and scoops mashed potato onto it. “Fine cuisine. Can’t get this in the city.”

They pause as Bucky and Sam’s shouts reach a crescendo, then Steve asks, “Do you miss it?”

“City food?”

“And the city.”

Tony eats his forkful. He does miss it - the lights, the constant noise like the ocean in the distance. The bustle of people, how everything was always happening all at once, how nothing ever slowed down, everything ramped up to a hundred every second of the day and night. But there were limits to enjoying that, and while the quiet here is sometimes oppressive, Tony’s liking it more and more. 

“A little,” he says. “But less the longer I stay here.”

“Good,” Steve says. 

Tony looks around for something to compliment, then throws wide. “You have a nice house.”

“It does the job,” Steve says. “My Ma and me used to live a few houses over but it got pulled down after she died. I fixed this house up and moved in. Bucky let me stay with him while I was working on this place.”

There’s a lot to say to that, but Tony can’t think of any of it. Instead he says, “I thought you’d lived in this house your whole life. It’s - really homey.”

“I try,” Steve says. “It was pretty sparse at the start, but everyone talked me into… making it more liveable. Putting things on the walls, building a bookcase instead of keeping my books stacked on the floor, all of that.”

Tony nods. Looks around the table, where the argument is dying down. One other thing he doesn’t miss about the city - there was never much of a sense of community, there. Everyone was out for themselves, and fair enough, with how the city behaved. Here, though - here, people talk to you when you go to the store. Everyone knows Tony’s name, and for once it isn’t because of what his last name is - people here know his name because he fixed their TV or got them a decent internet connection or because they helped him find the best spots to find wild herbs. Here, you can find_ wild herbs. _ You can forage for mushrooms and find fish in the river that are edible and no one yells at you for taking them home and you can walk literally everywhere and all the while people will wave and ask you about your day and actually seem to give a shit when you tell them about it.

The town can be stifling. It’s small and instantly knowable and Tony is still surprised how much he loves it.

“What are you two whispering about over there,” Natasha says.

Tony looks away from Steve to realize that the argument has ended and everyone’s focus is on them now.

“We were having a normal conversation,” Tony says. “Are Sam and Bucky finished going for each other’s throats? Can we continue with dinner now?”

He pretends not to notice when the rest of the table trades a look. 

“So,” Natasha says. “Anything new with you?”

“Just the chickens,” Tony says, and pauses. “Actually, Pepper and Rhodey have talked about coming to visit.”

“The city friends?” Natasha raises her eyebrows. “That’s nice of them. Let us know if they end up coming, we’ll give them a Stardew Valley welcome.”

“I’ll let them know,” Tony says.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Pepper and Rhodey visit on the tail end of summer.

They arrive the night of the bi-monthly dinner, and they get welcomed with the enthusiasm that Tony has gotten used to, but Pepper and Rhodey are irritatingly less phased by than Tony expected. They keep rolling with it, and every time Tony looks over expecting them to be politely not widening their eyes at all the mentions of fishing and domesticity, the slow, hard work and farm life, they’re nodding like all of this is perfectly normal.

It’s annoying. In their messages they’re openly incredulous about Tony keeping chickens and tending crops, but now they’re here they’re just - happy for him. A bit bewildered by some things, sure, but happy to sit and listen about Thor’s endless chickens and stories of Stardew life.

Tony waits until they’re down the driveway of Steve’s house, then whirls around.

“What was that!”

Pepper and Rhodey look at each other. 

“What was what,” Rhodey says

Tony points back at the house as they start walking away from it. “That! You’re all - yes, _ totally _, this is normal, we’re constantly around people who have grown up in one small town and stayed here their whole lives, or people who, who - fill their days with fishing and foraging and running small businesses-”

“We like them,” Pepper says. “They seem like good people.”

“They are! But they’re not-” Tony pauses. Kicks at a loose rock as they walk. “Our… people. Not in a bad way, just - they’re not what we’re used to. Right?”

“Sure,” Rhodey says. “Definitely not what any of us are used to. We’re all born and bred in cities, who then moved to other cities. Doesn’t mean we can’t turn into small-town people.”

Tony keeps quiet. 

“How far away is your farm,” Rhodey asks.

Tony points vaguely forwards. “Fifteen minutes. I have a car, but it’s not much use.”

“You still have the Ferrari?”

“What? No. I sold it. Got a truck. It suits Stardew better.”

“Well,” Pepper says. “I for one can’t wait to see this truck.”

“Shut up, Potts,” Tony says.

Pepper laughs at him, not unkindly, and links their arms together. Tony gives her arm a grateful squeeze as they continue down the road.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They like the farm, which is - gratifying. Tony tries not to feel too proud of himself as they compliment the new additions - silo, greenhouse, half-constructed second greenhouse, the fixed-up chicken pen and the crops that are flourishing for real now - and then fawn over the chickens.

“Are you going to get more animals,” Pepper asks - whispers, really, as she squats barefoot in the chicken coop holding a teenage Ferdinand. 

“Dunno,” Tony says. “Probably not. I don’t love the idea of cows and pigs.”

“You warmed up to chickens, though.”

“They’re okay,” Tony says, instead of _ I would die for these feathery fucks but don’t call me out on it _. “I’m good with just growing crops for now. And a few chickens. They’re gonna stay a few unless I get a rooster.”

Rhodey pauses. He’s holding Mary. Tony can tell it’s her due to the distinct tuft of feathers on her head.

Rhodey says, “Ferdinand’s a girl? _ Steve Jr.’ _s a girl?”

“Chickens don’t understand gender roles, Rhodey. Get with the times.”

“Do they know their names,” Pepper asks. She holds Ferdinand up to her face and makes a surprised noise when Ferdinand pecks her gently on the nose. 

“Nope,” Tony says. “Chickens aren’t the smartest animals.”

Steve Jr. comes up and clucks at him, cocking her head.

“Shoo, you didn’t hear me say that,” Tony says. He scritches between her wings.

Pepper strokes a finger down Ferdinand’s neck. She looks out of place in her pencil skirt and white shirt, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You should get silkies next. They’re the fluffy ones-”

“I know what silkies are, Pepper, I’m friends with Thor. He has a lot of Opinions on chicken breeds. I’m thinking about it.”

“What’s a silkie,” Rhodey asks.

Tony googles a picture and shows him.

“Aw,” Rhodey says. “That’s so - okay, this one just shat in my hand.”

“Bad Mary,” Tony says mildly.

Rhodey wipes his hand on the dirt and places Mary gently on the ground.

“You’re good here, Tones,” he says. “In Stardew.”

“Thanks,” Tony says. “I mean - yeah. It’s turning out better than I expected. I thought I was just, y’know. Escaping. But it’s… I don’t know. I can picture living here for a long time, maybe.”

There’s silence for a while, apart from the soft clucking of chickens that Tony is way too endeared by.

“The people here are really just like you said,” Rhodey says.

Pepper hums in agreement. “I thought you were exaggerating about Steve, but he’s the prettiest man I’ve met in a long time.”

“Did I say Steve was pretty?”

“You first mentioned him as Hot Artist Farm Guy.”

“Oh.” Tony doesn’t remember that, but it sounds like him.

“He likes you,” Pepper continues, still stroking Ferdinand, who is now dozing in Pepper’s hand. Tony wants to take a picture. He also wants to avoid this conversation, which feels like stepping on hot Emotion coals, so he goes with misdirection: “Ferdinand?”

“Steve.”

Tony swallows. “Yeah, maybe.”

Pepper says, “Maybe?”

“I’ve given it some thought.”

“That he likes you, or....”

“Or.”

“A relationship could be good for you,” Rhodey says. 

Tony blows out a breath. “Eh. I have my chickens.”

“I want a silkie,” Pepper says, stroking a careful finger down Ferdinand’s beak. “Or a - Tony, what are these ones again?”

“Bantams.”

“Bantams,” Pepper says. “I might set up something at home.”

“God,” Rhodey says. “Don’t you dare become chicken buddies. I don’t want all our emails to be about how you and Tony’s chickens are doing.”

“I’ll just get one.”

“They’re very social animals,” Tony says.

“Two, then,” Pepper says.

“Might need more than two.”

“Five.”

“Jesus,” Rhodey says, sitting back in the dirt and narrowly missing the spot he’d rubbed chicken shit into.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ FALL _

Steve’s lawnmower breaks down again.

Tony shows up around midday to fix it.

“Sorry,” Steve says as he opens the door. “I really gotta get a new one-”

“It’s no problem,” Tony says. “My day was looking pretty quiet anyway. Is it in the garage?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “Just out the back. Broke when I was halfway through this time.”

He leads Tony out the back, where the lawnmower sits on a half-mown strip of grass. 

Tony kneels down next to it with his tools.

“Half an hour, tops,” he says. 

Steve nods gratefully, pocketing his hands. “Thanks, Tony. I really appreciate it. Can I get you anything while you work?”

“You made any lemonade?”

“Sure! I’ll go get some.”

Tony starts into the lawnmower with a screwdriver. He spares a thought, as he does much less often now, to this situation: repairing a lawnmower in a friend’s backyard as the guy goes inside to get him homemade lemonade. He never thought he’d end up here.

Steve brings him out a glass of lemonade and Tony takes it, drinking deeply. The weather is cooler now, no more July scorchers, but it’s still hot.

“Thanks,” Tony says. “What’s the rest of your day looking like?”

“Quiet,” Steve says. He takes five steps and is in the vegetable garden, where he starts plucking tomatoes off of their vines. “I’m gonna make lunch, then work on a commission for someone in Ohio. Oh, also, I - should be finished with your soon.”

“Let me know if you want to come over to work on it,” Tony offers.

“I will! I should just need - more details. The picture you sent me is good, but-”

“Real life helps,” Tony says. “Yeah, I get it. Okay, this should be even quicker than I thought-”

He reaches into the lawnmower, screws in something that had come loose, then starts it up. The lawnmower roars to life.

“Damn,” Steve says. He straightens up, tomatoes in hand. “Sorry for making you come out here for two minutes of work.”

Tony grins. He turns the lawnmower off. “It’s fine, Steve. I got some lemonade out of it.”

Steve rolls a tomato in his hand. He glances back at the vegetable patch. “If you have time, do you want to stay for lunch? If you can’t-”

“Sure,” Tony says. He gets up, brushes himself off and steps into the vegetable garden. “Need any help carrying things in?”

Wordlessly, Steve hands him the tomatoes. Tony gathers them up and watches Steve tear off giant leaves of spinach, then some lettuce.

“Salad, huh,” Tony says as Steve motions for them to head back into the house.

“Among other things,” Steve says. “How hungry are you?”

“Enough.”

“Got it,” Steve says. “Uh, would you like to help with lunch, or-”

“I can chop.”

“You can chop,” Steve says. “Great. You know how to make a salad?”

“I’ve heard of it. I can look up a tutorial.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, Sam isn’t gonna get you in if the chef is out sick.”

“I can live with that.”

They hit the kitchen and Tony starts chopping tomatoes. He pauses to do a quick search on how best to chop tomatoes for a salad, gets caught out by Steve and is told to “just chop them whatever way you want, Tony, it doesn’t matter.”

Tony quarters them. He’d read that much before Steve caught him with his phone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Steve fries them up some fish to go with the salad and they sit on the porch to eat, plates in their laps.

“What’s your commission for the guy in Ohio,” Tony asks as they eat. “Are you taking furry commissions yet?”

“Ha, ha. I still haven’t forgiven you for making me find out what that is,” Steve says. “No, it’s not a furry commission, and no, I’m not doing those.”

“You sure? Can make good money doing-”

“_ Please _ stop,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “It’s a drawing of his aunt for her birthday.”

“Oh. Nice.”

“Yeah. Means there’s a time limit though, so I gotta do this fast.”

“Godspeed, pilgrim.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. His knife scrapes gently against his plate and Tony winces. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Steve hesitates. Tony watches him. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “Have you seen the news recently?”

“No. Why?”

“Ah,” Steve says, in a faux-casual voice that sets Tony more on edge than it probably should. “You got mentioned. It wasn’t a big thing.”

Tony goes rigid. Steve is still eating his fish and salad, seemingly unconcerned about the bombshell he’s just dropped.

“Uh,” Tony says. “What?”

“Just some dumb story a reporter made up,” Steve says. “About why you disappeared from New York. They have some photoshopped pictures, but the whole thing was pretty flimsy. Belonged more on Entertainment Tonight than the news.”

Tony makes a mental note to text Pepper about this. She’s probably already handled it, being in charge of his old company and all, but still - he might be able to do something to help.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Steve says after a few seconds of silence. “I know you don’t like talking about-”

“I didn’t know you knew who I was,” Tony says. “Who I - I mean, I know you know I’m Tony. I didn’t know you knew I’m Tony _ Stark _.”

Steve puts down his fork. On it is a piece of tomato, a chunky bit that Tony had sliced, and not very consistent with the other tomato chunks, which are all considerably smaller.

“We figured it out in the first _ week _,” Steve says. “We figured that you’d tell us when you were ready - but I assumed that down the line someone must’ve mentioned that we knew. We didn’t exactly try to hide it.”

“No?”

“No, but - well, we all thought you didn’t like talking about your old life, so we didn’t bring it up much. And it seemed rude to probe into - why you left it behind, so we didn’t ask about it. Sorry, we should’ve told you we knew. I really did think you did.”

“It’s okay,” Tony says. He stares out at the yard: the vegetable garden, the mower in the middle of the yawn, the rest of it yet to be mowed. “I, uh. Now that I think back on it, I did get - hints. The first _ week _?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Tony leans back in his chair. It’s a rocking chair, because of _ course _it is, so he rocks back and forth a few times. It squeaks. He should fix that later. He could do that before he leaves.

“I’m an idiot,” he says.

“You’re not,” Steve says. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“You’d be surprised,” Tony says. He hadn’t realized it, but this had been a weight, pulling him down when he got too comfortable - there had been the expectation that they would go off him once they found out who he was. 

The first _ week _. Shit.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Steve says. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

“It’s not that I’m not comfortable,” Tony says. “I. Uh. I guess I can talk about it now that I know that you know. Not _ now _, but. Sometime.”

“Looking forward to it,” Steve says.

Tony takes in the view. It’s still strange, all this land rolling out into the distance - no tall buildings, nothing to puncture the horizon, all of it just going on and on. It’s strange, but Tony is getting used to it, and even if he wasn’t - he still likes it. He likes a lot of things about living here.

“I’m glad you stayed, by the way,” Steve says. He picks up a glass of lemonade from the porch, just beside his chair. “We thought you might get your fill of Stardew. Take off back to the city.”

“Not yet,” Tony says. When Steve looks over at him, doing a bad job of covering up his worry: “I’m not going anywhere. I put a lot of work into my place. Besides, if I go back to New York, where are my chickens going to go?”

Steve smiles against his glass. “Stay for Steve Jr..”

“Gotta do it for Steve Jr.,” Tony says. “Anything for that little guy.”

He fixes the creak in the rocking chair before he leaves. Steve says he doesn’t have to, but Tony waves him off. He likes walking through Stardew and seeing all the stuff he’s fixed. Makes him feel like he’s a part of something.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ WINTER _

Life in Stardew Valley continues.

Tony plants and harvests his winter crops. He fishes when he can be bothered and buys fish from Natasha when he can’t. He does repair after repair - fridges, laptops, someone else’s lawnmower. He even fixes a roof, since being the Town Handyman apparently covers a broad scope of duties.

He collects winter produce from around town when it starts to snow - he finds a lot of Snow Yams and Crystal fruits, both strangely starchy but still enjoyable. He spends a lot of time indoors with the fire roaring, finally painting the inside of the house and reading books and learning how to cook things with all the eggs the hens keep laying now that they’re old enough. He sends Pepper and Rhodey a lot of egg pictures, way past when it stops being exciting that they’re laying. He can’t help it. He’s a proud chicken dad. He even admits to it now, and chats excitedly with Thor about it when he runs into him in town, which is less now, because Tony makes less trips to town once the cold really sets in. If someone wants to see him, they text and then he comes over to theirs or they come over to his.

Tony’s getting eggs ready for transport into town when he gets a text from Steve, asking if he can come around. Tony sends back_ yes sure _and finishes with the eggs, sets them to the side so he can take them into town after he finishes with Steve. He assumes they’ll be drinking coffee or having lunch, like they sometimes do these days.

He waits around near the fire for fifteen minutes, at which point there’s a knock on the door and Tony opens it to find Steve shaking snow off his boots on the porch.

“Thanks,” Steve says as he comes in, after he’s also shaken snow off his jacket. “God, it’s freezing out there. How are you holding up?”

“I’m holding,” Tony says, instead of _ this is the coldest winter I’ve ever been in, how do you do this every year, you crazies _. “What’s up? Want some coffee? I just boiled the jug.”

“Sure,” Steve says. He takes off his jacket and puts it over a nearby chair, then sits down near the fire.

Tony eyes the canvas Steve has in his lap. It’s wrapped, probably for the snowy walk over. 

“What’s with the painting,” he asks as he works the expresso machine..

Steve’s face is red, but most of it seems like it’s from the cold.

“It’s yours. I finished it.”

Tony grins and heads over with the cups.

“Great,” he says. He places the cups down on the table between them. “How much do I owe you?”

Steve tells him. Tony narrows his eyes.

“I told you not to give me a discount,” Tony says, and Steve gets halfway into what’s obviously a lie before giving in.

“Alright,” he says. 

“I saw your online rates,” Tony says. “Can’t lie to me.”

“Yeah, yeah. A guy can try.” Steve hands over the painting.

Tony thanks him and starts undoing the wrapping. It’s not a fancy wrapping job, which Tony is grateful for - all he has to do is move things out of the way and there’s the painting, already framed, which is nice of Steve. 

Tony touches the frame. It’s easier than touching the painting, which is… a lot. Tony swallows over a sudden lump in his throat. It’s ridiculous, and he feels stupid for being so effected, but - it’s his house, which he’s fixed up. There’s his crops peeking out of a corner, sunflowers in full bloom - it’s summer in the painting, with rays of light coming in from the distance.

There’s his firewood shed, with all the firewood stacked, and beside it is the chicken coop. Chickens are free-range: Ferdinand (Tony can tell thanks to the splotch on her left wing) scouring the dirt for interesting bugs, Kit (thanks to her distinctive and deformed claw) in mid-step on the porch. 

There’s his mailbox, and the window he repaired after a storm broke it during springtime, and there’s the exact shade of wood, and how everything looks in the springtime, there’s the stump and the path leading from the porch - it looks like something taken out of Tony’s memory from not very long ago, something that will come around again soon. 

“It’s beautiful,” Tony says. He touches the edge of the roof. “It’s - god. Thank you, Steve.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve says. His shoulders are hunched, but his smile is genuine.

Tony nods. “Another satisfied customer,” he says, mostly for something to say.

Steve laughs, but it’s distracted. Tony watches him watch the fire.

“Steve,” he says, and Steve looks at him.

Only hesitating a little, Tony reaches out the scant distance between them and touches Steve’s knee.

“I _ really _like it,” he says.

Steve’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. Flames from the fireplace reflect in his eyes, and Tony thinks he should feel something other than comforted, but that’s what he gets.

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly. His hand twitches in his lap like he’s going to cover Tony’s hand, which is still on his knee. “Hey, uh. Tony, I...”

“Yeah?”

“Would you, uh.” Steve wets his lips. “I know this might be a longshot, but - would you want to - be with me? As in - go out with me. I think we could be good together.”

Tony blinks. It’s not what he expected, but he didn’t let himself think of this a lot, and now that he _ does _ think about it, it’s very Steve. _ Would you want to be with me _ instead of - kissing him, or asking him to dinner, or to bed. Would you want to be with me, like - like Steve just wants his company, wants Tony next to him while they fish, or while Steve paints; wants to wake up next to Tony and eat breakfast together and have quiet evenings together. 

Like he just wants… Tony. 

It tangles at the back of Tony’s throat, the sweetness of it. _ Yes _seems too small.

“I mean,” Tony says. “I do already have your child.”

Steve stares at him.

“Steve Jr.,” Tony says. “Sorry, that was-”

Steve snorts, then breaks into a laugh. “I’m not laughing at you,” he says. “Just-”

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up.”

Tony watches, grinning, as Steve folds in half in his chair and shakes with laughter.

“Steve Jr.,” Steve chokes when he’s stopped laughing enough to speak. “God.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. He can’t figure out what else to say, so he leans in and kisses Steve, who immediately stops the weak ends of laughter and sighs into Tony’s mouth. Tony means to keep the kiss short, a punctuation rather than anything else, but he gets distracted. Steve’s lips are very soft and very cold.

“This was my plan all along, by the way,” Tony says when they pull apart. “Lure you in with your progeny. Had this all lined up when I named him. You should hear the rest of my cunning plan.”

“Tell me about it.”

Tony pauses. “I’ll - I’ll come up with it later. I’m just saying words, okay, I’m panicky.”

“Panicky?”

“Not bad panicky,” Tony assures him, and takes his collar gently. Brushes some leftover snow off it, and it melts into his skin.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “How is my daughter, anyway?”

“She’s fine,” Tony says. “She fought off a hedgehog the other day. Did you know hedgehogs are dangerous to chickens?”

“Uh-huh.”

“News to me. Anyway, she kicked its ass. I’m very proud.”

“_ We’re _ very proud.”

“Right, right.” Tony stays leaned in, almost brushing foreheads but not quite. “God, I’m glad I don’t have to be a single chicken dad anymore. You know you’ll have to pay chicken support if we break up, right?”

At first he’s worried about bringing up a breakup literal minutes after they’ve gotten together, but Steve just laughs.

“I can deal with that,” he says. “Responsible dads should pay chicken support anyway. Sorry I haven’t been paying it up til now.”

“Eh,” Tony says. “You’re here now. I forgive you.”

“Good,” Steve says. He both sounds and looks very distracted. He seems all too happy to be pulled in by his collar and kissed again. His lips are warmer now, and after a minute Tony can’t feel a difference between them - Steve’s have warmed or Tony’s have cooled, the two of them meeting in the middle.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/).


End file.
